


The Messenger

by dark_muse_iris



Series: Monsta X Oneshot Stories [2]
Category: K-pop, Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bondage, Cock Piercing, Cunnilingus, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, Femdom, Genital Piercing, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Impact Play, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Piercings, Pyromania, Reader-Insert, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Smut, Spit As Lube, erotic asphyxiation, mafia!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 19:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19341103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: One month after an assassination attempt on your life, you find yourself in the company of fewer and fewer people you can trust to carry out your orders. Changkyun, your lead messenger and most loyal employee, returns late from an operation with a fresh wound and a troubling explanation for it—but the message was delivered as instructed. You two spend the night celebrating a job well done.Excerpt:“You're late.” You untie and retie the knot on your navy silk night robe and wait expectantly for his excuse.He rolls his shoulder to stretch the muscle and peers from behind his dark, scattered fringe with an air of impatience. His glare is informal—impertinent—adorned by the single piercing along his left eyebrow. If he had been a new associate in your organization, you’d be inclined to scoop his daring eye out with a scalded spoon. The reality, however, is that he’s your most trusted employee, a messenger with a penchant for pyrotechnics.“I didn’t recognize the bald guy at the door,” he comments with a gruff scratch in his throat. “I almost dropped him.”





	The Messenger

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Changkyun/I.M (Monsta X) x Reader
> 
> Genre: Smut
> 
> Warnings: Mafia!AU, BDSM, femdom, impact play (face slapping), bondage, degradation (spitting), anal play, sex toys, oral sex, erotic asphyxiation, dirty talk, references to violence, organized crime, and a dick piercing because I’m just that kind of lady.
> 
> A/N: He is every bit of the little shit we know him to be.

The chime on your phone signals his arrival and your stomach lurches forward in a mix of emotions you would rather swallow down than confess aloud. The camera feed app on your cell confirms two things: Changkyun is alive, and he is favoring one shoulder over the other.

Perhaps something went wrong on the job.

You pride yourself on being two steps ahead of your enemies, but the way he gingerly removes his helmet as he parks his motorcycle makes your chest constrict with small pricks. The job must have gone wrong for him to slump to a noticeably weaker posture. He walks with invisible sandbags burdening his shoulders.

As he disappears from the view of the camera, you glance in the mirror and give yourself a final look of inspection. After a decade leading your organization to a pedestal of wealth and infamy, you see the toll on your skin’s elasticity or lack thereof. The stress of losing men and product in the last few weeks wasn’t doing your complexion any favors, and you entertain a fleeting apprehension that he’ll notice.

You’d give anything to turn back the clock on your physical form, but you remind yourself that a younger woman wouldn’t be fit to run your empire. Youthfulness is a weakness in your world. It fails to weigh all the options before jumping too soon. Its impulsive nature often negates the bigger picture, the long game which must be played in this business. Strategy is everything, and you’d rather have wrinkles at your brow than be the erratic, ticking time bomb of your youth.

The door to your penthouse suite opens with a high-pitched beep and you clear your throat before addressing the younger man clad in black clothing.

“You're late.” You untie and retie the knot on your navy silk night robe and wait expectantly for his excuse.

He rolls his shoulder to stretch the muscle and peers from behind his dark, scattered fringe with an air of impatience. His glare is informal—impertinent—adorned by the single piercing along his left eyebrow. If he had been a new associate in your organization, you’d be inclined to scoop his daring eye out with a scalded spoon. The reality, however, is that he’s your most trusted employee, a messenger with a penchant for pyrotechnics.

“I didn’t recognize the bald guy at the door,” he comments with a gruff scratch in his throat. “I almost dropped him.”

“He’s new,” you respond with a curt tone, “and if you had dropped him, then he’s not very good security, is he?”

“You could have told me. I was the one who suggested hiring more in the first place.”

“Changkyun, I don’t have to tell you anything. That’s not how this works.”

He meets your gaze and you harden your resolve to remind him who works for whom. His lips purse as he deliberates whether to press the matter further. It’s been hard for him to accept the volume of decisions you make independently these days, but you seldom know who you can trust completely. The attempt on your life the month prior reminded you of that.

As much as you don’t want to admit it, the event weakened your confidence as a leader, and it is likely why the younger man is so wary of the new guard outside your door tonight. After a few moments, he nods in deference to your words and you slacken your shoulders, approaching to inspect him more closely.

“So, are you going to tell me why you were late? You were supposed to report in an hour ago. I was about to send a search party,” you scold. “I don’t enjoy looking foolish.”

“I apologize,” he replies, bowing his head. “I stayed behind to watch and make sure it was done properly. It wasn’t.”

The bluntness of his explanation makes you cross your arms. “What do you mean?”

“Permission to speak honestly?”

“As long as it’s with respect, yes.”

Changkyun runs his fingers through his hair and winces as his shoulder displays renewed signs of soreness. “The next time you hire a pyrotechnician, I’d like to interview them myself.”

“Minhyuk came highly recommended. What happened?”

“His dumb ass almost died.”

A crease forms in your brow. “Kihyun said he had been clearing jobs for three years, no problem.”

“I highly doubt that,” he counters. “No offense to your brother, I know you both want to keep things in the family and I respect that. I do. But someone trained in explosives should be able to count, ___. Minhyuk only had enough blasting caps for half the shipment we were supposed to use. He could have gotten someone killed or worse, risk a message getting delivered half-assed.”

“What did you do, then?” you press.

“I had some extra blasting caps in my bike, but I had to move some of the blocks to different spots to ensure it all went up in one go. Improvisation takes time, and that’s why I’m late. That, and I had a ‘business meeting’ with Minhyuk immediately after the blast. You’re welcome.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and narrow your eyes. His lips part to offer a sinister grin. “Don’t worry, he’s fine. He’s just too green for that scale of a job and I let him know. He needs training, no matter what Kihyun says.”

“That may be the case, but the suppliers always send extra caps,” you point out. “Why weren’t there more with the shipment?”

Changkyun shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe they’re skimming off the top again like they were a few months ago.”

“If that’s the case, maybe I’ll cut their fingers off,” you remark, returning the shrug with a tilt of your head. Cutting limbs was your father’s way of communicating, not yours, but sometimes it was necessary.

“Let me look into it. The lead supplier for that kind of material isn’t the same guy we’ve always used; it’s his brother now. It could have been an oversight. I can find out tomorrow.”

A deep sigh falls from your lips. You hate having to work with new people and new faces had become uncomfortably commonplace. The high turnover in personnel and business contacts in the last six months was undoubtedly due to the trade war between districts. You suspect the attempt on your life had been a part of it. Someone wanted to take what’s yours.

“There are so many new ones, it's hard to know who to trust now. Loyalty doesn't always speak as loud as money. I don’t even know whether I can trust all my own men anymore,” you admit.

“Your employees are loyal to you, ___. I made sure of it after the incident last month.”

His stare is dark enough to feel sinister and you wonder what methods he employed to be so sure in his response. The threat of being prey in the hands of a pyromaniac would no doubt be persuasive.

But being your muscle isn’t his job—and he knows that. He just met the new muscle outside of your penthouse suite door.

“What’s in it for you?” you inquire, taking a step toward your employee. “Ensuring loyalty isn’t your job. It’s mine.”

“Nothing’s in it for me,” he answers, his feet rooted to the floor. “Although, I would argue that keeping your organization thriving and lucrative is everyone’s job. We failed when we didn’t assure your safety. That was a failure that could have been—”

“That was an inevitab—”

“Please,” he interrupts, softening his tone as he raises his hand. “Someone took a shot at you and they’re still out there. I won’t apologize or stop taking on extra jobs or duties until we find that son of a bitch.”

Changkyun’s expression sullies as he recalls the scene and you realize he’s taken the incident harder than you have.

“This won’t weaken our operations,” you assure him.

“Oh, I know,” he chuckles. “That’s why tonight, I told Minhyuk I won’t hesitate to break his legs if he’s so dumb as to not check supplies before a message again. We have an understanding now, and you’re safer for it because future messages will be sent without issues.”

The servile man plants his hands on the sides of his waist and rotates his shoulders. The movement causes his button-up shirt to relax open and you catch a glimpse of St. Gabriel, the patron saint of messengers. Changkyun has worn the antique silver pendant of the archangel since before he came into your employ—a family heirloom perhaps, since his father served yours. He’s never taken it off. The metal glimmers in the lamplight and sits unapologetically against his skin, yearning to be tugged.

Truthfully, you’ve missed Changkyun’s company. The way his eyes stay focused on your face as he speaks is a testament to his self-control and you admire that in a man. If he were given free rein to do whatever he wished, he would rake your figure possessively, especially as you tease along the hem of the only thing blocking the view you suspect he wants.

Your fingertips trace the edge of your silk robe. “So, you won’t be late next time?”

“No, my queen.”

 “I can’t have you harassing my other employees just because you don’t approve of their way of doing things. Tact and proper timing to correct mistakes aren’t just requests—they’re required,” you remind him. “Do you think that approach of being an asshole is effective leadership?”

“Yes, when it’s needed,” he remarks without hesitation. “I’m not a leader, but the others know I mean what I say. It’s an approach that worked well enough to keep you protected for the last ten years, minus last month.”

“There you go bringing up safety again. I’m fine.”

“I’ve been at your side for seven of those years to make it so. I don’t need friends, only purpose. Tonight, my purpose was making sure Minhyuk blew up the whole warehouse and not just half of it. The message must be delivered as you instructed. A half-assed one is unacceptable.”

“You care a lot about this, maybe too much.”

“I care that the right people are in the right job,” he states flatly.

His boldness has a way of holding your interest and you’re reminded that you don’t let him into your penthouse every week just to talk.

“Are you implying I should fire my new guards and keep you close to me instead?”

The teasing inflection in your voice makes his dark eyes flicker with a sense of mischief. He lowers his gaze to your shoulders as he deliberates the best way to answer.

“No, ma'am.”

“You don’t want the promotion?” you continue. “I thought you wanted to ensure my safety.”

He cracks a grin, lifting his eyes back to focus on your face. “I would welcome the job if that's your wish, but it would be hard to replace a messenger with my expertise. Pyrotechnic communication is an art as much as a science.”

You saunter close to your employee and drag your fingertip down the center of his chest, brushing the edge of his pendant. "I wouldn't want to remove you from your proper place in this organization. You do good work for me and you've never let me down, not once. If you ever wanted a change in position, I hope you’d feel secure enough in your loyalty to ask for it."

His chest rises and falls gently against your touch. "I'm content to serve at my queen's pleasure."

“And you like playing with fire,” you quip. “Let’s not forget that.”

"Yes," he answers in a low tone. "I welcome the danger."

The corners of your lips curl in response. "I know. That's why you keep taking the risk of returning to my bed each week."

He places his hand over yours. "As I said, I'm content to serve at my queen's pleasure."

You toy with the edge of his collar. "Do you think I'm a dangerous woman to serve?"

"Yes," he answers bluntly with a smirk. "A goddess with a firm hand."

The comment ignites a swell of sadism in your chest and you deliver a swift blow across his cheek. The initial flicker in his eyes is one of surprise, but as soon as the sting of your hand settles into his skin, his tongue pokes out from between his lips and drags tenderly against their corners. A long sigh of acceptance whistles from within the young man as his eyes grow heavy with lust.

"Do you still like that firm hand?" you probe, clasping his chin between your fingers.

"Shouldn't you have asked me that _before_ you hit me?" he snickers. "I'm delicate.”

You scoff and send another slap hurling across his face. He grunts from the back of his throat and raises his chin in defiance, his pupils dilating with each passing moment. He’s enjoying it.

"Delicate, huh? Are you saying you're not up to the task?" Your hand drops to grab the bulge in his jeans and give it a squeeze. His need throbs against your palm and you know that no matter how rebellious his tongue is, he's yours to play with as you see fit.

He closes his eyes as his mouth parts in a mix of discomfort and pleasure. "I'm always up to the task, my queen."

You speak softly with a matching graze along his chin. "Then take off your jacket and shirt and kneel at my feet."

Changkyun’s eyes are dark with wickedness when you take a step back and allow him to undress. He shirks off his leather jacket and drops it on the floor before discarding the black button-up shirt underneath. The only article he leaves against his upper body is the antique silver pendant hanging loosely on its well-worn chain. Its shimmer catches your eyes as they trace down his lean frame, from his bare shoulders to the sharp slopes of his abdomen.

The dark jeans cling tightly to his legs as he kneels in the floor with a subservient air. As your hand nears the top of his head, you consider the irony of two broken people breaking each other week after week. But you want this and you know he does as well, so you take a handful of his dark hair and pull it tight into a fist, giving it a possessive tug until he hisses through his teeth.

“As much as I want to use you up and not waste another moment, I have to ask,” you begin, squeezing your hand to tighten your grip. “Was the job done to my standards? Did our friends at the marina get my message?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, unable to move, save for a slight shift in his legs.

You jerk your hand to correct him and he winces. “Yes?”

“Yes, my queen.”

Releasing your hold, you push back his hair with a tender stroke of your palm. “That's right,” you hum in a low tone, “and your queen recognizes a job well done and rewards those who serve her well. Would you like to be rewarded?”

“Please,” he responds, closing his eyes as his head presses against your touch.

When you stiffen your hand and deliver him another smack across the jaw, his mouth forms a tight seal as he exhales a whine through his nose. “Fuck,” he whispers, stretching his neck to loosen it.

You bend over to offer him a chaste kiss of gratitude. As you reach his lips, you inhale the remnants of tonight’s message—the smoke from the explosion he set at your command. The scent distracts you beyond what you’d care to admit to him. You’re quickly consumed with concern for his safety.

“How close were you to the fire?”

“Closer than I should have been,” Changkyun answers honestly, “but it won’t happen like that again. No one will send a message without me approving of the supply drop in advance.”

“If I had been there for the operation, would I have approved of the message going forward?”

“Probably not. And you would have bloodied Minhyuk’s nose.” He looks up at you from his knees and grins ear-to-ear.

You return the expression with a frown. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want you to leave your night robe. You deserved the night off.”

You suppose he’s right, but sometimes you resent that the organization has grown to such immense size you can no longer be on all the operations as you used to be during the old days. Placing your trust in others doesn’t come easy, especially when your life is full of individuals like your messenger. His appetite for danger is as insatiable as his lust for pain.

Still, his attraction to both is why he’s on his knees in your penthouse suite, smiling and hoping to be smacked around some more. Had you been a nice, doting housewife like your grandmother had hoped you’d be, you’d have never opened your door to hiring him. You’d have never opened your legs for him either.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I can handle these issues as they come up. I just need to be informed of them.”

“I know you can handle them,” he agrees. “You can handle me too.”

“Are you interested in being handled roughly tonight? I feel as though my earlier touches were merely warm-ups,” you comment with a playful air in your voice.

“Always, my queen,” he recites, his tone even and ready.

You stand before the man on his knees and begin to loosen the knot of your silk robe. His eyes drift over the slopes of your waist but he makes no comment or advance. He takes his time soaking in how slowly you’re removing the garment, and watching him milk his patience to the last drop is one of the few things that still make you feel the unbridled rush of power. You revel in the choice to continue or make him wait for it.

As the robe falls to expose the red lace ensemble you’ve selected for his visit, you ask, “Any requests? I feel you deserve some say in what happens to you tonight after the job you’ve done for me.”

Clearing his throat, he moves his hand to grab his clothed cock, shifting it over to free him of the growing discomfort. “Can I have anything I want?”

He is bold to assume you would give him anything he asked for; however, you are feeling the subtle nudge of generosity. For all his firm words and inflated sense of self, there is something soft—pliant—in his countenance, something agreeable in the way he asks permission first. His surrender of power by seeking your approval makes saliva pool at the base of your tongue.

“Within reason and after I get mine first, yes,” you answer with a trace of your finger across your collar bone. “I want to give you a reason to stay.”

“I can think of a few.”

Goosebumps alight on his skin when you move toward him and let your fingertips catch the edge of his pectoral muscle, a battered stretch of flesh permanently damaged from a fire many years ago. The wound is one he’s never spoken of and although he is the closest to you among your employees—and lovers, admittedly—prying into the origin of such a scar is crossing a line.

“Let me hear what you want, baby,” you coo, gliding your touch along his bare shoulders.

Changkyun tightens the grip along his shaft as his entranced eyes perforate greedily at your waist. “I’ve missed your taste, my queen. Can I—” he pauses before correcting himself, “May I please be used?”

The edges of your smile recede sinfully in response. “Of course, you may,” you begin, “but I want to know what you want in return. I can venture a guess, but I think tonight’s message warrants a special treat. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His eyelids hang heavy with lustful urging. “Is the plug charged up?”

“Yes.” You make no attempt to hide the interest in your voice. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

“Make me hurt.” His Adam’s apple bobs solemnly in this throat. “Please.”

His words resonate within your yearning form and you walk backward from him, dragging your finger in a come-hither motion as you give your last instruction. “If you want to be my bitch, then crawl on the floor to your meal.”

He groans when you turn your back, but you soon detect the plops of his hands smacking against your wooden floors. You head for your bedroom and don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you turn over your shoulder to reward with a teasing look. The rushing winds of excitement trapped in your chest are too strong to ignore.

As you enter the master bedroom, you adjust the lights to a low dim and open your top dresser drawer, the source of your tools for his torment and pleasure. You pull out the stainless-steel handcuffs and dangle them between your thumb and forefinger. The bedroom door creaks as Changkyun joins your side, crawling on hands and knees with not a single ounce of shame in his face. When he sees the cuffs, he rotates his crouching body to face the door and offers his freedom: two clenched fists resting behind his back.

You attach both cuffs to his wrists and his shoulders slacken as he turns around using only his knees. The silk fabric covering your shoulders falls to the floor under his watchful eye. Reaching behind your back, you undo the clasp of your red bra and toss the garment aside. He shifts with the growing discomfort between his legs but makes no complaints upon seeing you so exposed.

You lean down toward the kneeling man, bringing your breasts within inches of his face. He hesitates, then tilts his head to nudge the naked flesh with the tip of his nose. As much as your body welcomes the tender kindness he’s showing, you remain in character, delivering a swift slap across his face. The sound reverberates in the room and is followed by the swift, shallow pants from his mouth.

He turns back to face your open chest, then presses a quick peck against the breast he previously neglected. Your other hand swings to catch him on the untouched side of his face. This smack is harder, more deliberate, and makes him whine behind pressed lips.

“Do you have something to say?” you provoke.

“More, please.”

You scoff to maintain the charade before sending two more slaps. His eyes pool with salty tears but he doesn’t make a sound. He simply turns his chin up to blink hard at the ceiling. It appears as though he’s thanking a higher power for the chance to be your victim.

The antique silver pendant hanging around his neck catches your eyes each time he shifts his bound hands behind his back. You imagine how it’ll dangle and swing as he serves at your pleasure and the mounting desire growing between your legs proves too distracting for you to delay any further.

As you step back toward your bed, you beckon him with your finger once more. His brow cinches in determination as he shuffles his knees and inches toward you, his jeans tugging at his waist. You consider teasing yourself and making him drag your panties down your legs with his teeth, but impatience gets the better of you and you pull them off as though you’ve waited too long. Perhaps you have. He looks relieved to see your eagerness and lets his mouth hang loosely as if he’s about to die of thirst.

There’s no greater way to savor the depth of being missed by someone until their head is buried in your folds. Changkyun doesn’t say the words; he doesn’t have to. You can sense the relief he has being reconnected with your body for that first taste. He releases a sigh and tries to show restraint with the first set of pecks along your inner thighs, but when you reach to grasp a handful of his hair and spread your legs wider for him, he abandons the gentle introductions for his true nature.

He parts your entrance with a deep swipe of his tongue, collecting the residual anticipation you had been saving for him since he entered your suite. The sound of him slurping and swallowing the first taste without permission is the only act of greed you permit as you prop yourself on your elbows and continue to peer down at the submissive man. His beady eyes grow heavy with intent as his appetite mounts behind the stiffening tongue lapping at your petals.

When you pull on his hair to bring him closer to you, he groans, pressing the tip of his nose to your clit to eagerly rub it into swelling. It’s the first action which compels a moan to slip from between your lips. As soon as Changkyun hears it, he closes his eyes and elongates his serpentine tongue, answering your call with a deep dive into your well.

“Oh, fuck,” you pant, your walls buzzing happily around his tongue. He gives the muscle a twist with a sensation akin to being penetrated by most sinister wickedness. Your head swims in sordid thoughts as he fucks you with his tongue and you swear, he holds his breath to grace you so deeply, you’re light-headed. It’s as close to feeling a demon’s touch as you can imagine, and the only action you can focus on enough to control is clenching his dark hair between your fingers.

He huffs a billowing wave of heat as he pants between your legs, emerging to intake a gasp of air before fluttering the tip of his tongue across your swollen bud, ensuring it won’t be neglected. A small whine drifts from the back of his throat as he savors the sweet nectar from your body, pulling hot slick to his taste buds with each stroke.

As he worships with arms behind his back, your mind drifts and fades into pleasure. He’s overconfident and mouthy at times. He speaks out of turn. He’s defiant. And yet here he is, submitting with your legs draped over his bare back, your fingers carding through his dampening strands. You love gripping his fringe and making him remember you’re pulling the strings. You’re taking what’s yours, and he’s serving from the best position for him—on his knees.

Changkyun stiffens his tongue and drives tight, wet circles into your clitoral hood and your legs start to shake. “More, more—fuck,” you moan, digging your heels into the mattress to control the way your waist is teetering on its own. His hair is growing matted under your ministrations and a light sheen of sweat mists over his brow, but he persists, opening his eyes and trailing them up your body until they meet your gaze. His pupils are dilated and swimming in a pool of longing. He blinks softly and starts to lap at your entrance with gentle brushes, pulling you back from the edge.

He’s toying with you.

“Don’t be a tease,” you warn in a breathless tone.

“I would never,” he replies, grinning as he traces his tongue down your slit. “Maybe I’m enjoying myself.” His handcuffs jingle when he leans closer to wrap his lips around your swollen bud and give it a light suck. The feel of his mouth pulling at your nerve endings causes your hips to roll, and he snickers. “Are you not enjoying this? Am I not serving you well?”

“You little fucker.” The words slice through your teeth as you sit up and pull him by the hair. His shit-eating grin is unmistakable and when he glides his tongue across his lips to taste you again, your core clenches.

“Do you mind? I was eating,” he says, blinking rudely like you had interrupted something special to him.

You send a sharp slap across his face. His jaw hangs loose a moment before he laughs with an expression of satisfaction painted across his features. He rotates a shoulder to adjust his hands and adds, “I love a cruel woman.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, and I’ve failed you, my queen,” he confesses with playfulness in his eyes. “I should have _begged_ for your cunt. I’m sorry. Hit me again.”

Another blow across the face and he’s fluttering his eyelashes with a swallow lodged in his throat. His countenance wanes to a state less than peaceful. Your cheeks burn hot at the sight of his reddening skin, swollen and covered in your juices.

“You’re a brat.”

“Oh yes,” he confesses, jingling his cuffs, “a disgusting brat who loves your pussy.”

“Stick your tongue out,” you command, yanking him closer to your heat.

He stretches the muscle until the tip of it reaches the edge of his chin and you pull him in, tightening your grip as he groans from the sting. His tongue is taut and stiff when your folds part to welcome him again. This time, your body casts aside all manners and you grind against his face, using the buds of his tongue as a surface to buff against. He moans with an open and eager mouth and the vibrations have your clit buzzing and toes curling. You roll your hips while you hang onto his hair—over and over—as he closes his eyes in reverence and lets himself be used, humming in a satisfied refrain.

The way Changkyun surrenders under your cruel touch makes your hand tremble, but you don’t let up, dragging his face against your pussy with enough vigor to smear your arousal from his nose to his chin. Each pass makes him grunt from the back of his throat and the sound summons the worst depravity from inside your chest.

“Take it, take it,” you chant, smothering him with your flesh until his moans are muffled. You hold him there, deep between your legs, as his tongue whips wildly inside your walls like he’s trying to claw his way out with it. The endeavors of his sinuous tongue make your clit tumefy in hunger for a final row and you call out a blend of profanities and panted breaths. As soon as Changkyun hears it, he lifts his face to refocus on your swollen bud, rapidly slashing it back and forth with his tongue as he groans like a hungry hound.

You squeeze your eyes shut and wail as your climax rips through your body. “Oh, _fuck_!” you shout, your hips sputtering as your core clenches and coats his face with hot release. The man between your legs welcomes your gift with soft laps and sweet hums. He maintains the task of savoring every drop until you descend from your high, stroking the top of his head with a tender touch.

Your body relaxes under his soft kisses against your damp entrance. “Mm, will I ever get over your taste?” he murmurs, and you’re unsure whether he’s addressing you or the lips of your vulva. He gives your folds a final brush of his tongue and takes care to dip its tip deep inside to gather as much of your cum as he can.

“Here,” you instruct, bending low to offer your tongue. He extends his tongue’s reach until it glides across yours and you draw in the taste of your wanton deed. You sigh into each other as your bodies relax under the comfort of the first afterglow. It always breaks the tension after a hard night’s work, and this evening is no exception.

“You’re a little shit, you know that,” you whisper against his lips.

“If I made it too easy, it would be less fun for you,” he says.

“And for you,” you counter. “I think you like riling me up.”

A suggestive hum sounds from his throat. “Hm, facing the wrath of a goddess who comes on my face? Who wouldn’t want that?”

His words make your cheeks burn, but all you can muster is a smile. You would never admit how much your pride swells whenever he calls you his goddess or queen, but you suspect he knows, which is why he says the words in the moments where they matter most.

He returns the smile and leans back to rest against his ankles. His cock is erect with neglect, pressing helplessly against the zipper of his jeans. Rotating his shoulders, he attempts to loosen his muscles, flinching in discomfort.

“I probably shouldn’t have cuffed you, sorry,” you admit, climbing off the edge of the bed to unfasten the handcuffs.

“Don’t say sorry for giving me what I want.”

“You keep moving your shoulders like you got hurt,” you pry, removing the bonds. “I don’t think you’re telling me everything. Did you get hurt from the blast?”

“Working for you has its risks,” he answers, avoiding a clear response.

“Did you?”

He grins with a sinister look. “Did I what?”

You shove his chest hard until his knees drag along the floor. “Did you get hurt from the blast today, dammit!”

“No,” he laughs. “I got hurt _earlier_ interrogating one of the informants for what’s-his-face. Guy’s got a thick dome.”

Rolling your eyes, you smart off, “What? You don’t know how to throw a punch anymore? What do I pay you for?”

He stands to his feet and shrugs. “Sex.”

“Ha! You wish!”

“At least if I blow my hands off in a tragic accident, I can still make you lose yourself,” he jests, sticking his tongue out and wiggling his eyebrows.

“I outta pluck that tongue out.”

“You won’t, you love it too much,” he counters. “I know what I signed up for.”

“Danger, money,” you begin, rattling off the main reasons anyone would enter your employ. “The chance to have your body used the way your queen requires.”

The corners of his lips stretch into a knowing smile. “I would hope so.”

“Take it all off and get on the bed,” you instruct in a low tone, letting your eyes drift to the noticeable bulge pressed against his dark jeans.

His thumbs dip into the hem of his waistline and he wags his hips hastily as his jeans fall down his slender legs to bunch around his ankles. He kicks them off in an unceremonious fashion before abandoning the boxer briefs clinging to his narrow waist. The tip of his dick is adorned with an apadravya piercing and the barbell calls like a tantalizing siren, drawing your gaze. The swollen vein tracing along the length from his piercing to his balls compels you to take a deep breath and cycle through all the ways you could make him beg for his eventual release.

Your shoulders take on a chill as you watch him climb atop the bed to sit. Slipping your silken night robe back over your shoulders, you let your employee feast on your breasts with his eyes and decide it’s best to leave the panels open for his viewing pleasure. When you turn your back to open the dresser drawer again, he makes a small hum of approval.

“Are you sure this is what you want tonight?” you inquire. Changkyun can take a lot, that much you knew, but the evening’s work had taken a toll and he was already injured. You didn’t want to press him beyond his limits; if you were in his position, you would opt for a hot bath instead of getting probed by a sadist.

“Don’t worry about me,” he answers from behind you. “I’ll rest later.”

When you turn around, his hand is enclosed around his dick, idly stroking it with his eyes affixed to your legs. You take the silicone anal plug and accompanying remote in your left hand, a bottle of lubricant in your right, and return to the bed. He removes his hand and crosses his legs beneath him. His cock stands expectantly hoping for more attention.

“I don’t know why you stroked it when you know I’m not going to let you get off that easy,” you comment.

“Just keeping him company,” Changkyun replies with a smirk. “He knows what’s coming and he’s excited.”

“What does he think he’s getting?”

“Your nails are shorter than normal. Let me dream.”

His observation humors you and reminds you how much you admire is attention to detail. It was what made him your best messenger.

“Are both of your shoulders hurt, or just the one?”

“The left is worse than the right. I started punching with the right hand when the left got tired.”

“You could have interrogated with a tool instead.”

“You know that’s not my way.”

“Mm,” you hum, swallowing down the reminder that your employee preferred using his fists to get his point across rather than using the instruments you recommended. “Turn over.”

As he starts to shift, he freezes. “Wait.” He turns over a trail of thought. “Eh, we should be okay.”

You rest on the edge of the bed and frown. “You know when you say shit like that in front of me, we’re using gloves, right?”

The man laughs as he flips on his stomach. “I’m sorry, I had a long day and I was trying to remember my last shit.”

“My pussy is going to shrivel up and die listening to you.”

“Bullshit,” he counters, throwing an accusing look. “I’ve seen you covered, no— _drenched_ —in blood before and you looked turned on by it. I think you get off on it.”

You press your lips to mask any tells and return to your drawer to get a pair of latex gloves.

“That silence tells me everything,” Changkyun jibes.

“Maybe I’ll cut you for fun next time,” you muse aloud as you pop a glove over each hand.

“Promise?” He grins ear-to-ear—until you scowl at him. “Ugh, fine!”

Your tone is sharp. “You don’t sound like a man who wants to come.”

He softens his voice and relaxes his bare body against your mattress. “I’m just hoping to piss you off. It’s sexy.”

The compliment weakens your urge to mouth off at him again. Watching him lounge on the bed like a dog returned home after a long day makes your chest tighten with the truth you want to cast to the back of your mind:

You care about him.

You’re too close to him.

It’s dangerous to be close to anyone.

Your gloved hand traces down the center of his back and his breathing deepens. The act of relaxing ahead of anal play has come so naturally to him, and you know that isn’t easy—not in this business where no one can take a deep breath without the urge to look over one’s shoulder. You want to keep him close to you and sex is one form of currency to ensure you do.

But it doesn’t feel like a trade anymore, not when his legs shift and open in such a trusting way. He’s invested in you and he can’t get sex like this from a prostitute when they’re all in someone’s pocket in this city. Someone would have killed him long ago if he had tried.

And you’re likewise invested in him. You miss him when he’s not around. You change his operations and duties over gut feelings, whether driven by intuition or loneliness. You don’t know. Your chaos doesn’t work without him.

And that scares the shit out of you.

You swallow the unsettling thoughts and pop open the cap of the lubricant. Pressing the tips of your first two fingers against his skin, you spread his cheeks until you see the taut patch of nerves, his anus in full view. The use of gloves is a welcomed relief and you use it as an excuse to drizzle copious amounts of lube. A steady, clear stream of liquid hits its target and Changkyun inhales a short breath, then redirects to release a long one. The slick dribbles to his scrotum as your fingertips drag deftly along his flesh to coax as much of the liquid in and around his sphincter as possible.

When you’re satisfied with the quick slide of your fingers against his most vulnerable spot, you close the lubricant bottle and leave it on the end table next to your bed. Changkyun folds his arms beneath his head and exhales as you begin to trace your touch along his puckered rim, willing his skin to find repose and prepare for the sought-after intrusion. You press your first two fingers together and utilize them in unison to trace tight circles against him. The man flinches at first and the muscles guarding his entrance tighten with a lack of welcome. You slow your approach and soften your touch, moving to sweep the gloved pads of your fingertips up, down, up, and down again to remind his body what it's missing.

He swallows and presses the side of his face against the mattress. He lifts his hips slightly to encourage you to continue. As his sphincter relaxes, you return to tracing along his inner edges, hoping his body will be pliant and agreeable to your will. Preparation for this activity takes time and each experience is slightly different. You want your touch to communicate that you have nothing but time and you’re willing to invest much of it for his pleasure.

You increase the pressure on his anal nerve endings until your fingertips glide toward his entrance. This time, his body embraces the sensation and his puckered flesh softens and stretches as you hope it would. Changkyun is breathing deeply with his eyes closed, and he says nothing. He appears to be in a meditative state like a man getting a foot rub at the end of a long workday. You imagine this is similar, in a way, for the value it holds in making an otherwise distrusting man relax.

As you slip the tip of your forefinger inside his anus, he groans with a soft rasp in his voice. The gentle scratch of it communicates relief for finally touching him where he wants to be touched, and you return the sound with a pleasing coo off your tongue.

“Have you missed me?” You punctuate your inquiry with a slight bend of your forefinger. It doesn’t take much for him to feel the change.

“I always miss you,” he confesses, arching his back to take in more of your touch.

“Always?” The use of the term amuses you, someone who prides herself on refusing attachments and yet has arguably failed at it with the man in the room.

Changkyun nods and widens his legs. You return the movement by dipping further inside his tight sheath. His walls contract at first as you do so, but then ease with continued effort, softening to encourage the flesh to spread wider into a more agreeable opening.

“I can’t wait to slip deeper inside of you,” you muse aloud, relishing the way his heat hugs around your finger. You withdraw with another gentle bend, then straighten your digit out before gliding it back into his depths. The intrusion makes him groan and arch further, motivating you to continue massaging his inner walls with finger sweeps, gradually increasing the swiftness of your touch.

The first squelch from the excess lube graces your ears and brings a wicked smile to your face. This man would kill for you without a second thought and yet, here he is, letting you penetrate him while he willingly spreads his legs. Changkyun furrows his brow in intense focus, pressing his lips together as a gust of air pushes out through his nostrils. He wants to moan, but it’s too soon for him to crack and give himself over completely. What you’re certain of is this: he needs this more than you initially thought.

The realization twists your stomach in delight. You’re determined to break him, to deliver what he craves most.

The middle finger joins your index finger and you slow your touch as you widen the intrusion in his walls. Changkyun clenches involuntarily as he buries his face into the bedspread and whines. His back muscles flex and you feel saliva pool on your tongue. The edges of your vision blur as your fingertips breach again, rushing to be enveloped by his walls. When you reach his prostate, you give your fingers a little wiggle to let him know you’ve found what you wanted most.

“Fuck,” he pants under his breath, bracing his hand against the mattress to steady himself.

“You like that, baby?”

You feel like a predator with a rabbit caught in the snare and the wickedness fills your chest with warmth. Of course, he likes it, but you want to hear it from him as he tries to keep from rutting his hips.

Changkyun clears his throat and nods his head against the sheets, but he doesn’t respond. You withdraw until the end of your forefinger graces the edge of his sphincter muscle. Then, you spin it, rotating your touch until every nerve ending feels your attention. The free hand which had been resting at your waist lifts to seize his balls and give them a cruel squeeze. The man yelps and looks back at you accusingly. You glare at him in return.

“My question warrants an answer, and I’ll have it from you, or else.”

“Or else what—ugh _fuck_ , _woman_!” he cries out as you seize his scrotum again like you’re going to yank it off. The fear of losing his balls makes him recoil and his legs start to tremble.

You cackle as you shove your forefinger back inside of him. “Come now, fear sweetens the taste.”

“You’re toying with me,” he growls, eyes cast to the far wall. You withdraw your finger completely.

“Yes, and?” you raise your voice. “I want to hear where you’re at and you’re being shier than normal. I know you can moan better than that.”

“Your fingers are in my ass!”

“Not right now, they’re not!” you bark at him. “Is this not what you want?”

“It is, but—” Changkyun halts his words and starts shifting his legs around. The pause makes you uneasy.

“Come on, you gotta tell me something or I’m just going to give you a hand job and call it a day.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“What aren’t you telling me? Am I hurting you?”

“I hate the gloves,” he blurts out. “It doesn’t feel like last time. It feels like being at the doctor’s office.”

“You don’t go to the doctor.”

“Like I said,” he counters with a roll of his eyes, “it feels like the doctor’s office,”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier, then?” you ask. “You have to tell me shit. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

Changkyun grumbles under your scolding. “Can you take the gloves off? Wait—never mind. One glove. It was fine until that doctor claw grabbed my balls.”

You swallow back the urge to laugh at his paranoid fear of the white coat. “I can do that.” You remove the glove and rub his lower back. His body eases under the feeling and you take a deep breath. “Just one glove. Feel better?”

“Other than crippling embarrassment, yes,” he answers. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s been a bad month. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to say sorry for. We’re here and we’re fine,” you console, thinking _we’re alive_ because that’s what you really want to say to him. “We’re just working on mastering something new. We’ve only done this a couple of times, anyway. There are going to be mistakes.”

“I don’t make mistakes and neither do you,” he puts bluntly.

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t,” you offer in an amusing tone. “Ready to try again? I can only tempt myself so much and you were arching your back earlier. I want more.”

“You sound like a succubus,” he chuckles and lifts his body from the mattress, turning to face you, offering a kiss of assurance. His forehead is already coated with a light sheen of sweat and you feel guilty for the earlier misstep taking place when it seems like you were heading in the right direction. You want to make it up to him and focus on nothing else.

When he presses his lips against yours, they’re soft and nurturing—not the type of kiss you were expecting. Despite his sharp words, he trusts again, or at least communicates as much when he graces the edge of your jawline with his thumb and rekindles the flame that wants him more than it should.

“Don’t rip my balls off,” he whispers.

“Can I touch them?”

“Yeah, just don’t tear them off like you’re trying to reclaim something. You’re in charge, but I need my balls.”

“I’ll be gentler this time.”

“Don’t be too gentle, though,” he replies with a smirk, turning back over to resume his previous position.

You retrieve the bottle of lubricant again. The pause in play makes you doubt the amount left and from your perspective, you’re starting over. A piece of your mind welcomes the opportunity for extra practice, but you feel bad you freaked him out. You try not to harp on it when there’s a job to do. You owe him, and you owe the thrumming left in your body from his kiss.

Another clear trickle of slick falls against him and he presses his face into the sheets, waiting to welcome you back. The renewed application of liquid makes reuniting your touch easier. He exhales in a long breath when he feels you this time, like you’ve returned to where you belong.

You probe his entrance with your forefinger and smile when the man beneath you hums in pleasure. The sound of his voice prompts you to stroke with a firm rub and you inch deeper inside his walls until you locate his prostate again. His shoulders tighten and he arches his hips as if to ask for more. You respond by delivering soft, rapid strokes against his prostate until he starts to pant like he’s out of breath.

He turns his head and glances back in your direction. His eyes are swimming in lust and you’re pleased to see him bounce back so quickly.

“Tell me what you want,” you coax with a honeyed voice, tapping against the gland.

He licks his lips as his eyes start to roll back, then he returns to bury his face in the sheets. You’ve got him right where you want him. He’s so affected, he can’t communicate properly anymore.

“You want more?” you ask, adding a child-like inflection at the end of your question.

“Please, please,” he chants, his hips arching upward as you slide your finger further inside.

“You want me to take good care of you?” you prompt, tucking the second fingertip between your forefinger and his heated lower wall.

“Please take care of me.”

His voice sounds so fucked out you want to grasp his dick and end his misery, but you drag out his pleasure. Deftly, you rotate your wrist until both pads of your fingers are pressed against his prostate. Back and forth your touch glides, pulling him closer to the edge until you hear him slurp.

He’s getting close.

You want to make him beg to blow his load.

The gloveless hand reaches for the anal plug and you feel him shift beneath you. He whines when you withdraw completely and press the cold silicone tip against the excess slick, coating the sides. You answer him by sucking in your cheeks and launching a glob of spit between his cheeks, hitting the exposed rim. Hungrily, his sphincter contracts around nothing, akin to his body taking a shallow breath before a deep swallow.

He moans at being degraded and a knock resounds between your legs as your clit aches. You plunge the plug inside him, twisting the device gradually as it breaches where your fingers had been. The long cone slides without friction or obstruction and you’re relieved when Changkyun releases the sigh signaling the plug is fully inserted.

Before he takes in a new breath, you press your finger to the end of the plug, turning it on. The low glow of the light at the end lets you know the remote is ready to be used and as you reach for it, his breathing accelerates with anticipation.

“Let’s start it slow, shall we?” you propose, giving the remote a single press of your thumb to send the first wave of vibrations against his nerve endings.

He groans and tries to bring his knees to his chest, but he’s unsuccessful when you make a “tsk” sound, withholding permission to move freely. You pop off the last glove and toss it in the floor beside the bed, then grasp a handful of his hair, making him hiss.

“On your knees,” you direct, releasing your hand.

Changkyun’s abdomen contracts as he tries to move without disrupting the vibrating device. The muscles in his back flex as he arches and rests on his heels, facing the wall as you crawl behind him. You discard of the robe and press your bare breasts against his flesh. Carding your fingers back into his dark strands, you persuade him to tilt his head to the side and expose his neck. You tease the bare skin with the anal plug’s remote control, tracing its edge over his beating pulse.

“Do you enjoy being my plaything?” you whisper, dragging the remote along his spine from his shoulders to his lumbar.

His voice is low and reverent. “Yes, my queen.” 

You press tender kisses against his shoulder blades as you push the button again, increasing the intensity of the vibrations. The hum coming from the plug is shrouded in his panting breaths; the combination of sounds is music to your ears. You wrap your arm around him and tease his left nipple with your fingertip. He groans through gritted teeth, rolling his head forward. When your hand drops to swiftly seize his erect flesh, he hisses, trembling under the competing sensations as your thumb rubs over the titanium barbell piercing the cockhead.

“I enjoy seeing you squirm almost as much as I enjoy watching you do my bidding,” you purr in his ear.

“Is that right?” he answers with amusement, turning his head toward yours. “You like watching me burn everything your enemies love? That’s cruel.”

The wickedness laced in his voice reinforces that he’s a pleased employee who would welcome such opportunities in the future. He knows you’re not a good person and he’s not one either. That’s easily how you both justify your late-night trysts and allow them to continue.

You release your hold on his dick and walk to the side of the bed to face him. His expression is tense from withstanding the vibrations, but his eyes are hazy and blown out behind soft blinking eyelids. When he sees you, he licks his lips and tries to focus on your face, but it’s hard for him to refrain from greedily gobbling the spectacle of your body when you take him in your hand again.

“You know I’m a cruel woman. Is that a problem?” His length throbs under your words and you offer him a few idle strokes until his hips start to twitch on their own.

“No, my queen.”

“Are you saying that because I have you in the palm of my hand right now?”

“No,” he counters, “if you gave the order, it was for a good reason. I like doing your favors and blowing shit up.”

You still your hand. “Fetch me the lube from the end table.”

He nods without a second thought and as soon as he turns away from you to reach for it, you grab the remote and push the button, increasing the intensity of the vibrations again.

“Ah, _dammit_ ,” Changkyun hisses, his hand bracing against the end table to keep from losing balance. He’s not used to moving with the plug inside and buzzing with such power. Watching him fumble with the bottle as he shakes the hair from his eyes provides considerable entertainment for you.

“Thank you,” you say in a soft tone, grinning at his discomfort. A thin stream of slick drapes over his length and he clenches his jaw and closes his eyes when you take hold of him again.

Your hand tugs at his flesh and glides along his shaft, coating the warm surface. The motion would normally bring relief to a man who is aching to climax like he is at this moment, but his brow is cinched with the conflicting sensations between his dick and his anus, still abuzz with teases from the silicone plug. The expression on his face suggests he’s deciding which pleasure to surrender to—and struggling. Watching him deliberate with his baser urges makes you wish you had pulled more instruments out of the drawer.

Still, you don’t want to keep him dangling to the point of numbness, not when he’s served you so well with his tradecraft and his tongue. You hold his dick tighter and begin to twist your wrist with each drive of your hand. The adjustment of your grip makes him loosen his jaw and poke the edges of his mouth with his tongue.

“You like it?” Your voice is playful and light.

He nods. “Yes, my queen.” The shake in his voice further spurs your wickedness.

“You’re focusing so hard on not coming all over me, aren’t you?”

“Shit,” he falters, clearing his throat. “Don’t say it like that. I don’t want to lose it now.”

“Oh?” you perk up, holding back the urge to laugh. “You don’t want to come on my tits?”

Changkyun hisses through his teeth, glancing at your breasts. As soon as his eyes fall upon your swells, you take your free hand and trace your areola with your fingernail. The action is enough to make him whine in frustration. You respond by taking the remote and switching the mode to an undulating rhythm to simulate penetration.

Then, you time your strokes with it.

“Ughh… _fuck_ , ___,” he gripes, his trembling hands seeking purchase on the sides of your waist. His stare darkens with each passing moment and you wonder how much he resents you as you continue to smile. You’re enjoying elongating his discomfort and making him wait. He’s so hungry for release, you suspect he’ll blow his load in full with any type of orgasm tonight.

Changkyun takes a deep breath and exhales like he’s determined to outlast your touches. He’s practiced in denial and it shows in the way he’s pressing his lips together and refusing to tear his eyes away from you. His hands remain fixed on your body, but he doesn’t grab with possessive inclinations. He’s merely remaining steady as the anal plug continues to sound against his rectal walls and bring him closer to the brink of losing it.

But you’re competitive and admittedly, the sight of him switching tactics compels you to change yours—so you hum softly from the back of your throat, like willing prey happy to be caught in a trap, and focus your massaging palm on his frenulum where he’s most sensitive. When he hears your voice and feels your thumb rotate against the spot which could rupture his resolve, his eyes begin to water.

“Let me have you,” he begs, unable to mask the urgency in his plea.

“What if I don’t feel like it?” you tease, increasing the speed of your stroke. “What if I want you to suffer for my amusement instead?”

“This is suffering!” The growl in his voice is unmistakable. He’ll lose it soon and he knows it.

You cackle without remorse, drawing your touch against his pulsing shaft. “Are you up to the task? You’re sure I haven’t broken you yet?”

He clenches his jaw and nods with determination. “I’ll sh—I’ll show you.” His voice is weakened by the continued buzzing from the anal plug, but he doesn’t try to bargain his way out of its use, though its inclusion is no doubt hastening his end.

You release your hand and hear him expel a cry of relief. He turns and crawls over the bed to prop your pillows against the headboard. He’s careful in their placement, despite the torment thrumming through his body, and the sight of him preparing a pleasant nest to properly fuck you summons an insatiable longing between your legs.

As soon as his body relaxes in a seated position, you straddle his lap, resting your hands on his bare shoulders. Changkyun’s face contorts with new sensations as he feels the vibrations from his new position, but he pours his focus on you, grasping the small of your back with his hand to pull you close. You welcome his cock inside your warmth with careful adjusting and gentleness to keep him from losing himself too soon. Each inch to rub your walls sends your head in a tailspin. The man below you offers a knowing look.

“I can feel it buzzing,” you whisper. “How have you not blown your load yet?”

He chuckles and moves his hands lower on your body to cup the swells of your ass. “I wanted to feel your cunt first,” he rasps.

“Yeah?” you encourage him, lifting your hips gingerly—then dropping them with a harsh slap of your skin against his. “Did you miss it?”

“I always miss it,” he murmurs under his breath. “Always want it.”

You roll your hips against him as he sinks his fingertips into your flesh and rests his head back against the headboard. He’s drunk from your enveloping warmth and continues to ramble absentmindedly as his head swims in lust.

“Always?” You’re evil for probing further into his urges when his eyes aren’t even in focus.

“Always,” he repeats. “Even at work. Ugh, _especially_ at work.”

You reward his honesty with another roll and let him continue to spill.

“Even when you’re holding meetings and pointing at the board and drawing circles around the buildings we hit, I think about your cunt—

“I think about how hot it must get when you give orders—

“When you pull a gun on our enemies, I hope it gets wet and dripping. You’re so—ah, _fuck_!”

Your core clenches around him and your ego is swollen with each word. You demand more. “I’m what? What?! Say it!”

“You’re so powerful and sexy and ruthless and evil and it gets me so hard when I think about all the people you’ve killed to get where you are.” Changkyun’s squeezes his eyes tightly as the words continue to fall. “You’re the most terrifying woman with the sweetest pussy. _God_ , I would do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything!” he shouts.

You growl from the back of your throat and grab wildly at the anal plug’s remote. As soon as the device is within your clutches, you crank up the dial to the maximum speed as Changkyun wails like a wounded animal. You don’t give him time to adjust to the change in sensations before you grab the top of the headboard and slam your hips down on his waist, fucking him senseless.

His hands tremor against your waist as the overstimulation from his asshole’s buzzing takes over. His jaw slackens as his pink tongue wildly whips at the corners of his mouth. Each moan from him fills your chest with wicked satisfaction and you contract greedily around him, determined to ride him straight to hell. Every undulation of your body feels like you’re siphoning his energy and the drag of his piercing against your walls is so delicious, your nipples become stiff with a need for attention.

You wrap your hand around his throat and slow your movements. His eyes open and he stares with a hazy gaze. The palms of his hand ground themselves against your ass again to coax your body to continue moving. A trickle of sweat drops from his temple to the edge of his chin and the only expression he shares in his features is complete devotion.

Maintaining your clasping hand, you lift your hips and drop them slowly, feeding his lust one stroke at a time as his neck pulses with each wave. It feels so good to bring him to the edge again that your panting breaths are unable to mask your delight.

“You’re lucky to be under me right now.”

“Yes, I am,” he agrees with a smile, his voice straining. “I don’t deserve you.”

You release your grip and listen as he inhales deeply, floating in the change that first full breath gives him. Looping your fingertip against the chain of his St. Gabriel necklace, you tease with a little tug.

“Do you feel blessed?”

He grins as he squeezes your ass. “Yes, best saint there is,” he comments, his voice high on stimulation. “I’m _so_ blessed. Your cunt’s a blessing.”

His sacrilegious praise reminds you the anal plug is still working. It’s weaving vibrations through every nerve ending in his walls and that fact only renews your urges to fuck him until he cries.

You send a cruel slap across his face and he moans with a slack jaw, blinking hard as his eyes water with surprise.

“You want to get blessed again?” Your voice is icy and threatening but, paired with the urgent constrictions of your walls around him, calls like a siren’s song.

Changkyun nods quickly to hasten your rhythm as you ride and brace your hands on his shoulders. He tightens his grip and digs his fingers into your ass again as his eyes roll back to a close. He’s on the verge of losing it.

“Fuck, please, _please_ , my queen. Let me come inside you.”

“Wait—wait for me,” you command in a stern tone.

He grimaces in desperation. “I don’t want to wait, ___. Pl—”

“You’d better wait or so help me God, I’ll—I’ll—ah, ah, ah!”

The man ignores your words and embarks on fucking you from below, thrusting upward with enough force to break your words to pieces, leaving you with little else but the fiery piston throttling your pleasure faster than you can process. You ground your feet into the mattress as a moan sounds from within your chest and your power over him melts into a mewling mess.

He languishes the coup and revels in it. “You’ll what, fuck me up? Then fuck me up, bitch. Fuck me. Fuck me!”

You claw your nails down his scarred chest until he growls and thrusts harder to goad you. Slamming your hips on him in wild abandon, you fill your thoughts with fantasies of breaking his body and you grit your teeth at the thought of it. He bangs the back of his head against the headboard in time with your body, but he doesn’t cry. His threshold for torment is so elevated from the evening’s overstimulation and your cruel touches that pain is the only pleasurable fruit he seeks in his final moments. He wants to hurt and wants to be broken.

The harder you wreck his flesh, the stiffer his cock becomes within your walls. His panting breaths are coated with high tolerance and he wants more, communicating his longing by sinking his fingertips into your thighs as you bounce harder and higher. The headboard slaps so hard against the drywall of your penthouse suite, you have a fleeting thought you may break the bed.

Your climax melts your chest and erupts through your throat like a banshee scream. Changkyun moans unabashedly in response to spur you on as you grind cruelly against him. You grip a handful of hair on the top of his head and watch his eyes roll, his lips curling into a snarl.

“I need to come,” he pleads.

He hasn’t peaked yet with your core clenching in aftershocks and his anus is still vibrating. The fact brings a wicked smile to your face and you release his hair to place your hand around his throat again.

“Thank you,” Changkyun murmurs, his face docile with the promise of his forthcoming release.

“You waited for me,” you purr, applying pressure against his skin. “Now I’m going to get you so good, you’ll never want to leave.”

His face is with stoic determination as you restrict his air supply, heightening his sensitivity. His cock remains painfully hard and your folds are so swollen that each lift of your hips burns, but you want to give this to him. He’s endured so much and you know exactly what it takes to get him there.

Rolling against his cock, savoring the rub from his piercing’s barbell, you moan lowly as you continue to clasp his throat. He blinks hard and stares into your eyes through wet tears, his gaze a blend of elation and attachment. His fingers remain affixed on your waist as you rise and fall, but they soften against your flesh over time as he floats in erotic asphyxiation.

When you release your hand from his neck, he takes a large breath and hums, squeezing his eyes as his ecstasy mounts. You drive harder and harder, pressing your hands to his shoulders as your core clenches around him. Each row against his shaft makes him whine and you delight in the power of controlling every piece, from the vibrations in his ass, to the rub on your walls, to the words of persuasion.

“Come on, fill me up,” you coax with a tauntingly sweet voice.

“You’re so—s-so good—ah-ahh!”

Changkyun grips your waist hard as his body seizes and he coats your walls with translucence. He winces like he’s in pain, and you imagine it does hurt, at least a little. You brush the sides of his face with gentle touches and let him descend with pulsing convulsion and a loose jaw.

When his orgasm finishes, he starts to spasm beneath you, his face twisting in displeasure.

“I’ve got to get this out of me.” His words are clipped and you quickly dismount, chuckling at the sudden urgency.

“Don’t drop it on my sheets.”

He rolls his eyes and leans to one side as he retrieves the anal plug from his rectum and turns it off. It falls to the floor with a thud and Changkyun sighs in relief.

“Fuck.” He rests back against the pillows and wipes his brow with the edge of his forearm.

The euphoria of afterglow settles into your cheeks and brings a smile to your face. “I enjoy watching you writhe like that.”

“I bet you do,” he hums, his voice thick with exhaustion.

You step away from the bed and head toward your ensuite bathroom. “Join me?”

“I should probably be going,” he answers. “Your guards are going to start asking questions.”

“It’s their job to ask questions. What are you worried about?”

“They’ll find out about us. I don’t want that to be a problem for you.”

You click your tongue as you flick the light of your bathroom on. “If they have a problem with me fucking who I want, when I want, they can seek employment at the bottom of the harbor.”

His voice sounds from behind you. “That approach will make enemies.”

You snicker under your breath as you open the top drawer of your vanity. Inside was a handgun and detached silencer. You remove both and begin gingerly attaching the two.

“I’ve made adjustments to account for those enemies,” you explain. “I’d still like you to join me. You look worse than you did when you got here.”

Changkyun’s eyes wander over your nude form as your fingers complete the task of assembling your weapon. He shifts his gaze to the oversized drop-in soaking tub.

“Let me get my smokes.”

You nod and lay your firearm on the edge of the tub and start drawing the bath. As the water sloshes and fills the vessel, your mind rings with business—new employees, compromised contacts, next steps.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the clearing of Changkyun’s throat. “Mind if I use your bathroom before I get in the tub?”

_Oh, right._

Stepping aside you allow him to use the toilet. You return to your bedroom to check your phone and give him privacy to clean up, although the gesture seems unnecessary given everything you both shared during the evening. He returns the favor, giving you a chance to use the restroom and try to quiet your thoughts of work, with no success.

You turn off the faucet and climb into the tub, taking your time to ease yourself into the water. As is often the case, the bath stings with searing heat, however, you’d prefer to start a soak too hot rather than too cold. Changkyun returns with a lighter and two cigarettes in hand, shuffling his feet slowly across your cold, marble floor. Holding up your open palm, you offer to hold the items to allow him to join you.

The moment his foot sinks to the bottom of the tub, he grimaces in pain. “That’s fucking hot.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“It’s like scalding lava. You could cook a lobster in it,” he protests. “Give me a minute.”

He steps his other foot inside and slowly sinks his body into the warm depths with a sour expression etched across his face. You reward his effort by returning the lighter and one of the cigarettes, the last of which is tucked between your lips.

Changkyun traps the stick of nicotine in his mouth and scoots forward to light yours first. The initial inhalation of smoke is a welcomed sensation after the evening you’ve had—hell, the month you’ve had. You take a long draw as you watch him flick the lighter and ignite his stress-reliever of choice. The room remains still and quiet as you take turns blowing smoke above the bathtub you share. The lack of conversation paired with the scent of cigarettes gives you a moment to think, and the distracted gaze of your employee suggests he has a lot to ponder as well.

“How’s your shoulder?” you inquire, breaking the silence.

Smoke billows from between his lips before he answers. “It’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“Do I need to pull you from operations for a while?”

“M-mm,” he answers in the negative, shaking his head.

You narrow your eyelids to communicate your unwillingness to take his answer at face value. He winks in return, taking another draw.

“Perhaps I wasn’t hard enough with you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he replies. “You’re getting bolder with your thrashing on me. Thrashing and choking? You must be mad at someone. Tsk…but whom?”

He looks pleased with the conversation and you hope he’s the only one in your organization who can see right through you. A tingling suspicion erodes your confidence of this. It is likely others would be able to guess your thoughts and motives as easily as he can. It’s something you need to work on.

“You’re overthinking again,” he comments, interrupting your self-criticism. “You do that a lot after we fuck.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

Changkyun needs to rest his shoulder. The injury lingers at the forefront of your mind, drumming up more feelings of guilt. Your dalliance in pain with him tonight no doubt will aggravate the tissue in the morning. He’ll be sore and swollen.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” you ask.

“I’m supposed to oversee a shipment coming in, but that’s not until tomorrow night,” he says. “Are you going to send me off to see Shownu?”

You laugh. The smartass would never see the doctor unless he was gushing blood.

“No,” you counter, releasing a puff of smoke. “I need you to accompany me while I go talk to Kihyun. I’m not happy his trade to me can’t handle a simple job.”

“Are you bringing Minhyuk?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think that’s wise. I need to pull him offline and have him retrained. Or send him back to my brother for another.”

“I can do it. We can avoid the trade.”

Pressing your lips together, you deliberate his offer. An injured shoulder shouldn’t preclude him from doing a proper job, but you worry about placing too much on his plate.

Stamping out the cigarette on the edge of your tub, you make a counteroffer. “Let’s see how Kihyun’s conversation goes, then we can decide.”

 _We_. The word sticks out and you wonder whether you should keep your cards closer to your chest.

Changkyun doesn’t miss the weight of the word. “Thanks for including me. It makes my job easier.”

The water in the bath turns lukewarm and loses its appeal. You both leave the tub behind and dress separately with no words exchanged. To dress each other feels too close and too intimate to you, and risky. No matter how much you wish for tenderness and companionship, you understand that your life affords you neither. The lit cigarette and shared time in the tub will have to do.

“I’ll be heading out then.”

His closing words are the same words he always uses. They’re comforting and familiar, which make his imminent departure less desirable. You’re ashamed to admit to yourself that you’ll miss him being in close proximity.

Handing off his jacket, you say what seems the most appropriate send-off. “Watch your shoulder riding tonight.”

He flinches as he tucks his arms into the sleeves. “Yes, my queen.”

The corners of your lips twitch and turn upward. “You don’t have to call me that on your way out.”

“It makes you happy,” he counters in a calming tone. “I want to.”

Your neck fills with heat and you’re swallowing down your girlish impulses. Truthfully, you don’t want him to leave tonight. You want him to stay with you. But to admit such a thing would be to open your heart to admitting other truths—ones which could place you in even more danger.

“It does,” you concede carefully. “But don’t call me that in front of the others.”

“I would never put you in that position.” His serious expression gives you solace and you’re able to take a steadying breath.

“Alright, well, I’ll see you out.” Each syllable feels like dripping molasses and your throat tightens.

He stands a moment longer to take a last look, then takes one of your hands in his. Bringing the bend of your knuckles to his lips, he presses a soft kiss to communicate his farewell. The warmth of the gesture rekindles the sadness of seeing him go, but you can’t bring yourself to comment on it. You can’t afford to complicate your relationship more than it already is.

“Drive safely.” The words feel indifferent and stale, but you say them for good luck.

Changkyun squeezes your hand before releasing it and a part of you wonders if he wants to stay.

“I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, ___.”

He turns and makes for the door without waiting for your response and you’re relieved of it. You know you’ll be spending the next hour or so mulling over every exchanged word and touch to see if you’re making a mistake. You’ve made many in the last month, and your heart can’t bear shouldering another—especially one borne of silly feelings.

 _It’s nothing_ , you assure yourself, returning to your bedroom with a burdened step. _He’s a man. It means nothing to him._


End file.
